𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐕𝐄 𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐋𝐄
"𝐼 𝑤𝑖𝑠ℎ 𝐼 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑 𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑤𝑎𝑦 𝐼 𝑢𝑠𝑒𝑑 𝑡𝑜.."
𝐓𝐰𝐨 high school sweethearts, one tragic ending. Steve Randle and Valerie Renee Danson were the iconic duo. Living their best life, and perhaps, fal...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
I hastily dashed through the loud and crowded hallways towards my English class, accidently bumping into a few people on the way. The class had rows of desks connected to the chairs, with a chalkboard up front. The teacher's desk was to the left from where I entered, squeezed into the small corner. In front of me, there was a relatively spacious walkway. Small tables stood to the right with turn-in baskets for each period, alongside other miscellaneous classroom necessities.
Only one person was already inside, not surprisingly, a girl way too smart to not be in honors. Even a fourteen year old I know jumped up to our grade, yet she's not in honors? He's meant to be in ninth grade, I'm nearly a senior! Correct me if I'm wrong, but I believe her name is Mallorie? Something like that.
I sat down. Relaxing against one of the multiple plastic, and plain blue seats. I had both of my feet kicked on top of the breaking, wood and metal desk. While Two-Bit, a guy that's a bit too old to be in high school, messed with others in the back. Ruffling their hair, or practically wresting them as the tardy bell rang.
Out of no where, my irritating English teacher, Mr. Lansdale, decided to show up. He's got short, dirty-blonde hair, and wore typical black slacks with an expensive, cleaned-up, Madras printed shirt. He's tall, roughly around 'ol Darry's height. I mean Darrel ain't that old, but still, he's older than most other people I hang around.
Darrel Curtis is my best friend Sodapop's older brother, he has a kid brother named Ponyboy who's in this class, but he and I don't get along so good. He knows how to bake this perfect chocolate cake that's absolutely stunning. He's twenty; muscular; has broad shoulders; short brown hair; and did I mention he's extremely tall? Probably.
Soda n' I are meant to go to the drive-in tonight around seven. Dissapointing as is, it'll likely end up being one of those beach movies. Where the chicks just stand around for the looks, and the guys don't do nothin' for the non-existant plotline. Ponyboy's goin' with us, and he said something about wanting to bring some broad he, Soda, and Darrel have known for years. He don't like her though; Soda's words, not mine.
Mr. Lansdale spoke up catching all of our attentions, for the most part that is. "Settle down everyone," it angered me to see him treat us like sixth graders, 'cause it doesn't help. You'd imagine he had that figured that out by now.
The intelligent girl sat in to the left of me, obviously daydreaming, and oblious to the lesson. She was staring at the ground between her desk, and the one in front of her's towards my direction. Solely based off the tilt of her head placed in her hand. I wonder what she's thinkin' about.
She has brown, thick, curly, chin-length hair that suitably frames her face. With bangs at her eyebrows, though only because they curl up. Her eyes are an enchanting washed-out blue, creating a faint gray shade to them. Freckles covered her cheekbones and nose, adding a feminine touch. Her jawline is more defined compared to many's that if she dressed like, acted like, and cut her hair to be like a guy she'd easily pass. She's short at possibly 5'2, and her curved, petite figure had many asking her out, even after knowing they hated the most of her hobbies: reading and writing.
